


Blame It On The Papaya

by raisedbymoogles



Category: Transformers Generation One
Genre: Bathing/Washing, Bondage, Fruit, Impact Play, M/M, silliness
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-07-17
Updated: 2011-07-17
Packaged: 2017-10-21 11:38:26
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 723
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/224754
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/raisedbymoogles/pseuds/raisedbymoogles
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Rodimus Prime and Ultra Magnus have some fun in the bathing chamber. Written for the Rodimus Prime Party on tf_g1_season3 on LJ.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Blame It On The Papaya

Magnus surveyed the sticky, undignified, disreputable mess before him with a heroic attempt at a straight face. "Rodimus, what am I going to do with you?"

The mess grinned. "You could always lick it off me."

"I don't want to know what that - that -"

"Papaya," Rodimus supplied helpfully.

"Papaya," Magnus acceded, "would do to my intakes." He thought for a moment. "Hold on to that idea for later, though."

"Yessir."

Magnus felt his straight-faced mask slip. Rodimus had prepared himself prior to Magnus's arrival to the bathing chamber, chained his own hands suspended over his head, leaving no doubt what he wanted. He'd even used the standard prisoner-grade cuffs, which he could get into on his own but not out of. There was something meaningful about that, Magnus was sure, but he preferred action to literary analysis. Rodimus Prime was pleased to offer Magnus his body in this manner; Magnus was pleased to accept.

Not in its current condition though.

Magnus turned to get the brush and a bottle of Rodimus's favorite cleanser. "How in the world did you become covered in papaya, soldier?" he asked, slipping easily into the role of superior officer with his former subordinate. "Because I can't imagine it adhered to regulations in any way."

Rodimus squirmed a little as Magnus began to scrub his chest. "I was pushed," he protested mock-defensively. "Right into the delivery truck. It was all Springer's fault."

"The two of you were engaging in horseplay which resulted in the destruction of property," Magnus translated. "Imagine my surprise."

"The Brazilian delegation were too amused to be offended."

"I'm sure." Magnus waved the brush threateningly under Rodimus's nose. "But that doesn't change the fact that you need to learn discipline. And decorum. And proper hygiene."

"Hey!" Rodimus protested. Magnus silenced him via application of the brush against his cheek, more of a hard tap than a strike. The younger mech's lips parted.

Magnus tapped the other cheek, then - carefully - his mouth. Rodimus's engine audibly kicked up in a higher gear, sending vibrations outward through the bath's cleanser-fluid. He squirmed, thighs rubbing together, and Magnus put his shoulder into his next strike, landing it on Rodimus's thigh with a loud  _crack._  Rodimus yelped and hopped up on his pedes a little.

"Do you think a filthy mech like yourself deserves pleasure?" Magnus asked quietly, and Rodimus whined as his engine revved again. "I might be convinced to give you what you want anyway. But not until you're clean. ...On the outside, at any rate."

Rodimus chuckled. "Yeah, there's no cure for my dirty mind." He relaxed, pushing his aft out as Magnus ran the brush down it.

"I wouldn't have you any other way," Magnus told him, and Rodimus crooned, as affected by words of praise as by words of degradation. Magnus turned the brush over and ran the bristle side down Rodimus's back and aft until the Prime gleamed, a pristine vision of Primus-blessed perfection.

Magnus turned the brush again and brought it down on Rodimus's aft. "You've behaved well," he told his willing captive warmly. "I'm inclined to give you your reward." Another hit, and Rodimus moaned and squirmed beguilingly. In a fit of inspiration, Magnus added, "And not a sound from you, soldier. If I hear one squeak out of that vocalizer of yours, I'll stop."

Rodimus nodded quickly, a whine quivering in his throat just on the edge of hearing. Magnus lifted his arm slowly, giving Rodimus plenty of time to swallow the sound down before his next strike fell.  _Crack-_  Rodimus squirmed but remained silent.  _Crack-_  another, and the young Prime's body quivered with strain and need.  _Crack,_  again and again, and his perfect, perverted, unconquerable Prime arched, mouth open on a choked cry. "Magnus-!" escaped from him, and Magnus struggled not to break his promise of discipline - but Rodimus was already overloading, so it no longer mattered.

Magnus's hands were even almost steady as he undid the cuffs. They sank down into the bath together, Rodimus cradled in Magnus's arms. Rodimus stirred and groaned quietly as Magnus pressed gentle kisses to his lips.

One hand came up, grasping Magnus's helm to pull it down; their kiss deepened. "What are you doing?" Magnus asked when it broke.

His Prime grinned. "Returning the favor," he explained, and pounced Magnus with a mighty splash.


End file.
